


count up all the chances

by smithens



Series: a love that won't sit still [7]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: 1910s, 1920s, Complicated Relationships, Epistolary, Flashbacks, M/M, Mrs Hughes Deserves A Raise For Every Footman Going Through Gay Puberty She's Ever Had To Deal With, New Relationship, Reluctant Role Modeling, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Handsome young footmen are not known for making wise decisions in love.Thomas and Richard might know this better than anybody.
Relationships: Duke of Crowborough/Richard Ellis, Thomas Barrow/Duke of Crowborough, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: a love that won't sit still [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747162
Comments: 20
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> > There were those empty threats and hollow lies  
> And whenever you tried to hurt me  
> I just hurt you even worse  
> And so much deeper  
> There were hours that just went on for days  
> When alone at last we'd count up all the chances  
> That were lost to us forever  
> But you were history with the slamming of the door  
> And I made myself so strong again somehow  
> And I never wasted any of my time on you since then
>> 
>> But if I touch you like this  
> And if you kiss me like that  
> It was so long ago  
> But it's all coming back to me
> 
> — ["It's All Coming Back to Me Now" by Céline Dion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsWG2Gry1fw)
> 
> (i reserve the right to use this song for titles again) (it's peak crowbarrow you can't convince me otherwise)
> 
> one of my long haul covid19 symptoms is an affliction called "cannot stop posting works in progress syndrome". i suspect it is incurable. 💔

**Letters, from Downton, to London**

Feb 20, 1928

Dear Richard,

Well, you are going to have a pile of letters when you return to London. I wonder if this one will beat you there or not. I think it will be short enough it doesn't matter.

Today has been something. The wedding was called off—while we were all in the pews. Very exciting for the village but the Rev is fed up with us up at the big house I think. That's two jiltings at the altar in less than a decade. I won't lie and say I find this one to be especially tragic, or a surprise. Daisy is handling it well all things considered.

Know any lads aspiring to be a footman-hallboy in a less prominent household than yours? If so, please send them my way.

Always yours,

T.B.

* * *

Feb 27, 1928

Dear Richard,

You are stark raving mad. You do realise I was joking about the footman thing? At least you had the decency to telegram first. You got awful lucky with him being up north already. Not that there was much competition.

I hired William before the interview was even over. It remains to be seen whether or not I can get the Lships to call him Billy. Between you and me I think they've got a good reason to make an exception about nicknames in this case—Lady M got quite the look on her face when we made the introductions. It's been more than ten years now. I'm surprised any of them still remember. Well I suppose that's not really true and it is likely an unflattering assessment of the family I so loyally serve but sometimes it seems like they only pretend to care about their servants. That said other times they do go above and beyond, and I probably shouldn't speak ill of them when they've gone out on limbs for me in the past.

Anyway, I am sure that one of us will let you know if I'm successful, but you heard of the effort from me first.

Thank you. You've been giving me things to be grateful for since the very beginning, haven't you?

Yours,

T.B.

* * *

March 1, 1928

Dear Richard,

Another short one for you.

We're going with Bill. Quothe the Lord Grantham, as told by Bates: "Perhaps he goes by Bill, or something?" So, that was easy, wasn't it!

Albert has been enjoying his promotion. I'm being generous and giving him until the end of the month to get his head out of his arse and back up onto his shoulders where it belongs. Someone I know was like that once, so I figure if he needs prompting to return to his usual self after that I'll know how to handle it.

Baxter sends her regards. We're hosting visitors in the next few days so I'll not have much time to write. You've no right to complain, I am just letting you know.

I forgot to say it last time but I hope Sandringham treated you well. Do you ever get to sit down? I have to wonder when you're only sending me two or three words at a time. I don't mean that to be pushy, just to be clear. Only I worry after you, being so far away. I shouldn't, when I've never had somebody near to compare it with, but I do.

Always yours,

T.B.

* * *

March 6, 1928

Dear Richard,

The maid of one of our guests said the strangest thing to me just now. Do you know what it was? Guess.

It was, "Mr Ellis has told me so much about you."

It would have been nice to know in advance that you and Miss Lucy Smith were the best of friends before she came to stay in the house, Dick!

As for the rest…

Daisy's not bothered, and she thanks you for asking. Last I heard (yesterday, actually) Andy got a place on a farm at Great Thirkleby. If you ask me he's gone about life all backwards. Regarding the newest addition to our lower five I will have you know that I am an obstinate guardian of virtue. Don't worry about it. Do you think I should say anything to Mrs Hughes though? I suppose I worry about what it will make me look like if she finds out about them some other way.

Although I should appreciate a warning the next time one of your bosom friends drops by the Abbey, I am,

Still yours,

T.B.


	2. Chapter 2

**London, May 1928**

"Stay," Richard says; he presses a kiss to Thomas's chest with a smile. "Stay with me."

He's just joking, but Thomas feels a lump build in his throat. "You know we can't," he replies. _We,_ he says, as if Richard's got anything to do with him leaving.

The kisses keep coming, at his chest over his hair and then up, up, up, each one longer than the last. At his collarbone he takes the most time of all; soon enough his skin is stinging, and Richard's mouth is constant upon his shoulder, his hands stolid upon his hips.

If he hadn't come twice already he would be well on his way now. As it is he just hums, and that is when Richard lifts his head, grinning, devious.

Thomas doesn't have to look to know a bruise is forming.

"So you'll think of me…"

"Til we meet again?"

"Right you are, Mr Barrow."

Reluctantly but firmly Thomas shoves him off and sits, then stands. He does not want to get dressed.

But he has to.

Mr Royal Valet sits on the bed with the blanket over his knees ( _not_ over anything else) and watches him do it with keen eyes.

When he has to fasten his garters Thomas bends over in a way he normally would never.

"Not going to help?" he says, practically upside down.

"Help you leave me?" he returns, "not a chance."

"Won't we see each other again?" Thomas asks, words overlapping with Richard's own. "The Crawleys are here til – "

"I'm off to Windsor Castle tomorrow."

Oh.

Well.

"Yeah," Richard adds.

Thomas realises he's frowning.

"Hate this," he mutters, stepping into his underwear. "I hate it."

"Yeah."

"I… I. Fuck, I-"

_Now_ Richard comes over, and he's got a soft look in his eyes and he's nude and his arms are so _comforting_ ; it hasn't even been a year yet but Thomas already wants him around for the rest of bloody time –

"You're making this harder than it has to be," he mutters, shrugging Richard off of him, straightening up, resolved. He grabs his shirt from where it hangs over the back of a chair. It was put there very much by accident in the heat of the moment, but better there than the floor.

First button, second button, third button, all the way up til his collar.

His braces are still on his trousers because he undressed himself without any help from his clothes-obsessed lover.

His clothes-obsessed lover who is currently holding his undershirt as if it is something precious and not just a piece of knit that's bound to be soiled with sweat and dirt, after the day he's had.

Thomas looks down at himself and swears.

"Did I…?"

"You did," says Richard, and this time he _does_ undress him. First button, second button, third button, all the way down, much slower than he's capable of. "This wouldn't happen if you wore combinations."

"What am I, an Edwardian lady?"

"No," patient. "You're a fashionable man who ought to get caught up to the Jazz Age."

"Sorry for not following every innovation in mens' underthings – "

"They've been around for years now, Thomas – "

"And what do _combinations_ have to do with bloody jazz – "

They keep bickering until Thomas is fully dressed and ready to hit the pavement. Richard can't stop touching him.

"Times like these I wish I had something of yours," he murmurs as he smooths his already-smoothed lapels, just when Thomas is about to shove him off again. He doesn't. Can't bring himself to when he's speaking in that tone.

"You've got the watch fob," Thomas points out. He has it on his keys but the point stands.

"Yeah, I have, but I meant – "

He cuts himself off. Thomas thinks about his own undershirt and blushes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Tell you what," says Thomas, closing himself off to embarrassment in the moment because there'll be plenty of time for that on his way back to Grantham House, "you buy me an undersuit and I'll give you a piece of what I've got on."

"A piece," Richard repeats, smiling again at last. He won't say no; Thomas is sure of it, even if he pretends like it's all very amusing.

"Your choice if it's the top or the bottom."

_Yeah, you keep blushing..._

"You've got yourself a deal."

Fun. Again, he'll be mortified later, but the prospect is appealing, unfortunately.

He puts on his shoes. They go down together. The landlord—somebody Richard knows _enough_ but not very well, although that may change if Thomas can get up to London more often—looks at them knowingly and steps into a backroom.

Richard calls him a cab and gives him enough to pay the fare twice _just-in-case_ , despite his protests. ("It's not a stretch, I can assure you," he says, and Thomas's sensibilities are luckily not yet worn thin enough that he manages not to blurt out _how much do you fucking make, anyway._ Significantly more than he does, is the answer, even if he doesn't know the specifics.)

Who knows when they'll be together again. Neither of them do and neither of them bring it up out loud, even though they're probably both thinking it. Thomas is, at any rate.

The ride back to St James's square is brief—more to do with the hour than the distance, he supposes, because it had seemed like _ages_ earlier, starting in the West End and making it all the way over... On the way Thomas stares at the electric street lights and wonders if Downton will ever have any of its own.

His underwear supplier is not the only thing behind the times about the village.

As a precaution ( _you're welcome, Dick_ ) he gave an address that isn't actually the Crawley's, and he stands up against somebody else's gate—used to be the house of Lord Hepworth, back in the day, and he got on with most of the staff well enough to know how to get in round the back when he had to, but now it's somebody with a title bestowed based on net worth who owns the place he's sure—smoking a cigarette til he's positive the driver is long gone.

Then at the stairs to the servants' quarters at Grantham House he smokes another. For his nerves.

Only shortly enough he hears footsteps… and they come to a stop just above his head. He ducks down even though he doesn't have to—he's sitting on the third step, hidden by the railing, in the dark.

From above come the strains of a conversation between the most posh voice imaginable and… Albert.

Albert his first footman, Albert.

"...but won't your Lordship see me again first?"

Albert his first footman who at this hour should be upstairs in bed and dreaming of bloody sheep, _Albert._

The first thing he thinks is, _well, Dick has no reason to worry about_ Billy's _innocence._ The second thing he thinks is, _he had better not be doing what I think he's doing._

Hypocritically, but he's old enough now it doesn't feel like it.

"That depends," says the other man. _His Lordship_ , apparently.

"On?"

Silence.

Long silence.

Presumably they're not just standing around twiddling their thumbs to fill it.

"You'll let me visit, then?"

"Oh, my dear…"

More nothing.

His stomach twists.

Then: "go inside, Albert," gently.

"I want to watch you leave," earnest. "I'll not go til you turn the corner."

"If you're going to insist upon it..."

"I do insist," softer now, "I do—let me?"

"Suppose I'd like to know you're safe and sound, first?"

"Oh, _Lyulph…_ "

Well, he'll be consulting Richard on who in the House of Lords is called _Lyulph_ as soon as is possible...

They're less silent this time. Definitely kissing. The risk of it makes his heart beat fast and _not_ in a good way, although God can't he remember when it might have… right in that very spot, too.

But it doesn't anymore. Not a bit.

There has never been a shortage of stupid young men working for the Crawleys. He'd been foolish to think maybe he'd averted it in his time as butler.

Willing he's not noticed, Thomas stands up as quietly as he can, walks down the stairs, and goes inside. As a kindness he leaves the door unlocked, but he won't be giving any more of those, if he can help it.

It will do more harm than good, and he knows it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content notes:** thomas is 22 years old and vocal about his desire for philip to raw him (this content note is more explicit than the content)

**Letter, from Downton, to Crowborough**

December 16

1911

My darling, you do like to torture me with your words, don't you? Making me remember all those lovely things I can't have, all those things we did together, that you did to me and I to you… but more on that in a moment. I miss you more than I can bear and it pains me so to hear you've been feeling melancholy. I worry after you you know. You've needed loving and comforting and I've been stuck up here in Yorkshire wishing I could provide it when I can't. My heart can only take so much of this before I go and do something rash. Maybe next year things will be different? I promise you Downton is drearier than where you're at but any place on earth would be dreary for me if you weren't there too, no matter how nice, no matter who else I had for company—the best places I've ever known are the ones I've been with you. Shall I tell you what I remember of them? Some are ordinary, just the same ones you'd remember yourself I think. Your bed for example. And what did we do there that we couldn't do other places? So many things. I miss your bed, my darling. I miss lying down on it and spreading my legs for you…

…

…I only wish we would be together again soon, there or other places. Better ones even. Just you and I, no jobs to get back to or heiresses to worry about. Please, tell me what you'd want from me if we had such a place, what we'd share if we were together somewhere safe… you already know I'll do anything you ask, if it pleases you.

Your very devoted, T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "but the earl of grantham doesn't live in grantham" i know but they seemed like they were doing something with east sussex so we're just going to go with it


	4. Chapter 4

Crowborough  
East Sussex  
August the Fourteenth  
of Nineteen-twelve

My dear,

The Season has come to its End, and thus I've taken my leave from London—I cannot claim to miss it, as the city, for all her Attractions, grows to be so tiresome by August, and as so many of us do I have fallen Prey to feelings of melancholy and malaise in recent days. Yet the estate is terribly lonesome in contrast, and what is more, bereft of you! Thoughts of you consume my every waking moment: your Smile, your Laughter, your Voice, and yes, your Body…

…

…how can it be that our Time together has already come to an end?

Darling Ellis, I do so regret to inform you that you won't be hearing from me again—duty calls, and a paper trail will be of no help to me in my future endeavours. The fact of the matter is that I have had yet another unsuccessful Summer, and my Circumstances do not allow me another.

As a point of interest, I've related Business to attend to in the North Country—and do not doubt for a moment that you will rest in my mind for the duration—after which I suspect I shall make passage to New York. Or perhaps not? Should any Arrangement come of either journey you will doubtless see news of it in the Court and Personal column.

I daresay we shall cross Paths again, should you retain your Employment and I my Position. I trust, Ellis, that upon our next encounter we shall accord one another with all due respect and conduct ourselves with utmost decorum. Knowing you I believe you will have no trouble in accomplishing this—it was, after all, your manner and your Bearing which drew me to you. Let us part amicably and meet again in dignity. Of course I must also commend you for a job well done—I've never before in my life had such a pleasant stay at Buckingham Palace as I had with you in my Service.

I shall remember you fondly.

Believe me, my dear,

Most sincerely,

Crowborough

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as [@combeferre](https://combeferre.tumblr.com)!


End file.
